


I Don't Know Why

by Lucky107



Series: Rock 'n' Roll High School [5]
Category: Bully (Video Games)
Genre: Class Differences, F/M, Forbidden Love, Mischief, Teen Romance, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 05:43:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7964680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucky107/pseuds/Lucky107
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He sticks out like a sore thumb, the clean blue fabric of his Aquaberry sweater against the bleak shop is blinding, but he isn't much of a fighter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Know Why

**Author's Note:**

> I Wonder Why - Dion and the Belmonts - 1958

**October, 2006**

When Gord Vendome stumbles into the auto repair shop - surely lost - An's fight-or-flight instinct kicks in.

He sticks out like a sore thumb, the clean blue fabric of his Aquaberry sweater against the bleak shop is blinding, but he isn't much of a fighter.  Not when he's come all alone and waded neck-deep into her territory.

In the past their encounters have been short, but vicious.  It starts with a smug remark—the contempt with which they view her makes her blood boil—and his most recent stunt, running around with Lola Lombardi, hasn't won him any favours among her kind.  Still, she knows, with Neil out to lunch there are no mediators present and she must be on her best behavior.

" _Hello_?"  When he calls out with that pretension accent, she contemplates saying nothing at all with a hope that he would see himself out.  She's been making too much noise to pretend the shop is empty, however, and that snooty voice calls again, "Is _anybody_ in?"

An untangles herself from an old station wagon she's been working on and wipes the back of her blackened hand across her forehead, leaving a greasy smear behind unwittingly.  "I'm here—what'dya want?"

Gord's expression does nothing to hide his surprise.

It's not that she works in the shop that bothers him - not much, anyway, because she's not even half the woman that Lola is - but he isn't expecting to find her all alone.  The place is usually crawling with grease monkeys just looking to pound his face in.

"I apologize for the _intrusion_ ," his voice drips with sarcasm.  "I need _someone_ to take a look at my bike."

"Take it down to Toby."

Gord's nose scrunches with disdain.  "Are you saying you _can't_ fix it?"

"Look, I'm elbow-deep in a carburetor I said I'd have finished _yesterday_ ," An counters.  "You've got access to your daddy's credit card, haven't you?  Go into town 'n' buy yourself a new one."

"This one was a _gift_ , so can you or can you not fix it?  You're _wasting_ my time."

"You're wasting your own time, comin' out here," she insists, but this time she shoos him away from the contraption in order to get a better look at it.  "But since it sounds important, I guess I'll take a look at it for you... for a price."

"Fine, fine - just, _please_ , find the source of that _awful_ noise."

 

By the time An gets Gord's bike onto the rack to take a proper look at it, he's lost himself staring at that smudge of grease on her forehead.

She's just a peasant—he knows that better than anyone—but Lola's a peasant, too.  Her face appears on magazine covers, clean and fresh and beautiful.  She rarely sets foot in the shop with the intention of picking up a wrench and getting her hands dirty.  She'll give anyone the time of day for the right price.  But An... even _watching_ her work within all this filth makes Gord feel dirty himself.

"Almost done," An says in a singsong voice.

It's uncharacteristic of the An he sees around town, the girl who's quick to jump him for pocket change when he walks all alone.  This is her turf and when she's hard at work here she's got nothing to prove.  She's no longer a greaser, she's just An.

"Once I reassemble 'er, she'll be as good as ne—"

Abruptly, An turns straight into the boy and finds herself face-to-face— _was that a kiss?_ —with a kid she'd sooner knock in the teeth.

Surprise, embarrassment, disgust—both parties fall apart before they can properly register what's just happened and the next couple of minutes foster complete silence.  An returns to her work, providing them both with some much-needed time to evaluate the situation, but there really are no words to say.

It was just an accident.

It was just an awkward and stupid accident.

"I—"

"Don't," An says and she brushes off his apology with a hostile shrug of her shoulders.  She sticks the butt-end of the flashlight into her mouth and focuses on wedging a tiny rubber band back into place.  She murmurs around cold steel, "Accidents happen."

Gord clenches his jaw, tight, to fight back the involuntary denial.  His heart pounds like a hammer against his chest and, right now, he's not totally convinced it _was_ an accident.  While he doesn't _want_ to believe that it could have been anything else, the giddy feeling that swells in the pit of his stomach must mean _something_.

The taste of her lips lingers as an odd mixture of stale coffee and tobacco— _cheap, filthy_ —and it's so drastically different from kissing Lola that he's uncertain they're even from the same end of town.

This brief taste he's got leaves Gord wanting _more_.

From An's reaction, however, he can't tell if she's experiencing the same flutter of butterflies or not.  It could be that she's already put the entire incident behind her, uninterested in crossing that forbidden line of intimacy with a rich boy, but the suspense of her silence is just _killing_ him.

"Kiss me again," Gord demands abruptly.

The expression of stark bewilderment that he's met with is unexpected.  It lacks the hostility to suggest she intends to strangle him with her bare hands, but when she pops the flashlight out of her mouth, her reply is a sharp, "No."

His heart sinks.

In a desperate plea, he adds, " _Please_."

" _Please_ tell me you're kiddin'," An echoes back and she flicks off the flashlight.

It takes her no time to retrieve Gord's bike from the rack and she performs some standard reassurance tests, carefully rolling the bike back and forth to confirm there's no longer an annoying 'click'.  Once satisfied, she nudges down the bike stand with the toe of her shoe and turns to demand her payment.  What she finds instead is Gord offering up his best puppy-dog eyes.

With a sigh equal parts frustration and forfeit, she relents, "You're serious?"

"I won't _tell_ anyone," he insists, as if that somehow makes his request better, and An pinches the bridge of her nose as a reminder to unfurrow her brow.  "It doesn't mean a thing."

" _Fine_ ," An agrees, allowing the tension to collapse within her puffed-up chest.  "But we keep it brief 'n' it stays between _us_.  Got it?"

"Of _course_."

There's little warning before An's cool, rough hands have found his face in some semblance of affection.  He doesn't even think about the greasy smudges she'll be leaving behind because he's too caught up in the warmth of her kiss.  His brain tracks only this ticklish sensation that dances on his lips, turning the rest of the world into static noise—stale coffee, old tobacco and flavourless chewing gum.

It's different from kissing Lola, but it's not like kissing Jimmy, either.  It's rough and desperate, dirtier than any of the other peasants he's kissed, and Gord _likes_ it.

An nibbles on his bottom lip rough enough to remind him that they _aren't_ friends, but also gentle enough to make his knees weak.  She's not blind to the effect she has on him, but it's completely unlike her previous relationship experiences and she doesn't hesitate to hold him at her mercy.

When she breaks the kiss, it's sudden and stern.  " _What_ —?"

"C'mon," An insists and she crudely gestures towards his bike in haste.  "Lunch's almost over.  You got what you came for, so pay up 'n' get outta here before Neil 'n' the guys're back.  They won't like catchin' you hangin' around."

For a moment Gord had completely forgotten about his poor bike.  He had forgotten about coming here for repairs and he had forgotten about his promise to pay her.  He had forgotten how much trouble he would be in with her friends if they found him here and he had forgotten about how much trouble he would be in with his own if they ever found out.

For a moment he had completely forgotten about all of the subtle little differences that made them rivals.

"Are you _alone_ here often?"  He asks, emphasizing that phony accent of his.  "I'd _love_ to see you again sometime."

An's brow lifts in surprise.  "Somethin' else wrong with your bike?"

The unresolved frustration in Gord's big, brown eyes entices a little smile.  She knows he isn't talking about the bike—she made damn sure that it would run just like new—but she can't quite understand why he would want to see _her_ again.

"You _know_ what I—"

"I'm teasin'," she says.  "Most Fridays are quiet, so maybe we'll see each other around."

"Maybe."


End file.
